Man in the Gray Flannel Suit Page 32

  He paused, out of breath, half afraid to look at Hopkins. And then it happened–Hopkins gave a funny, high, indescribable little laugh which rose in the air and was cut off immediately. It was a laugh Tom never forgot, and it was followed by a moment of complete silence. Then Hopkins said in a low voice, “I’m glad you’re honest. I’ve always appreciated that quality in you.”

  It was Tom’s turn to laugh nervously. “Well, there it is,” he said. “I don’t know what I do now. Do you still want me to work for you?”

  “Of course,” Hopkins said kindly, getting up and pouring himself another drink. “There are plenty of good positions where it’s not necessary for a man to put in an unusual amount of work. Now it’s just a matter of finding the right spot for you.”

  “I’m willing to look at it straight,” Tom said. “There are a lot of contradictions in my own thinking I’ve got to face. In spite of everything I’ve said, I’m still ambitious. I want to get ahead as far as I possibly can without sacrificing my entire personal life.”

  Hopkins stood with his back toward Tom, and when he spoke, his voice sounded curiously remote. “I think we can find something for you,” he said. “How would you like to go back to the mental-health committee? That will be developing into a small, permanent organization. I’m thinking of giving my house in South Bay to be its headquarters. That would be quite nice for you–you wouldn’t even have any commuting. How would you like to be director of the outfit? That job would pay pretty well. I’d like to think I had a man with your integrity there, and I’ll be making all the major decisions.”

  “I’d be grateful,” Tom said in a low voice.

  Suddenly Hopkins whirled and faced him. “Somebody has to do the big jobs!” he said passionately. “This world was built by men like me! To really do a job, you have to live it, body and soul! You people who just give half your mind to your work are riding on our backs!”

  “I know it,” Tom said.

  Almost immediately Hopkins regained control of himself. A somewhat forced smile spread over his face. “Really, I don’t know why we’re taking all this so seriously,” he said. “I think you’ve made a good decision. You don’t have to worry about being stuck with a foundation job all your life. I’ll be starting other projects. We need men like you–I guess we need a few men who keep a sense of proportion.”

  “Thanks,” Tom said.

  Hopkins smiled again, this time with complete spontaneity. “Now if you’ll pardon me, I think I’ll go to bed,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

  38

  THE NEXT MORNING Hopkins was friendly, but brisk and a little distant. “Good morning, Tom!” he said when they met for breakfast. “I find that I’ve got to stay out here a little longer than I thought. There’s no reason why I should hold you up, though–you can fly back to New York any time you want.”

  “Thanks,” Tom said. “I guess I might as well take the first plane I can.”

  “Certainly!” Hopkins replied, “and thanks so much for coming out with me. Don’t worry about anything. In a couple of months we’ll have that mental-health committee set up, and I’m sure we can work out something good. I really meant it when I said we can use a man like you. I won’t keep you on the mental-health committee more than a few years–we’ll work out lots of new and exciting projects. I think the two of us will make a good team.”

  “I’m grateful,” Tom said.

  “By the way,” Hopkins concluded, handing him a large manila envelope. “Give this to Bill Ogden when you get back, will you? It’s just a few notes I’ve made on some projects he has underway, and I know he’s waiting to get my reaction.”

  “Sure,” Tom said. “Glad to. See you later, Ralph–see you when you get back to New York.”

  Tom went to his room to pack. He glanced at the telephone. Half the night he had lain awake wanting to call Betsy to tell her about his conversation with Hopkins. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to wait any longer. Without knowing whether she would be disappointed or glad, or even whether she’d understand what had happened at all, he had an intense urge to communicate with her. On impulse, he picked up the receiver and placed the call.

  “It’ll be a few minutes,” the operator said. “I’ll ring you.”

  He sat down on the bed and waited. In a shorter time than he had expected, the telephone rang. “I have your call to Connecticut,” the operator said. “Go ahead, please.”

  “Betsy?”

  “Yes!” she replied, sounding marvelously close. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I’m flying home today.”

  “Today? That’s wonderful! But why?”

  “Something’s happened,” he said. “I had a really frank talk with Ralph and I’m going back to work on the mental-health committee. I’m going to be its director, at least for a while. Then I’ll probably go onto something else with Ralph.”

  “Are you glad about it?” she asked, sounding bewildered.

  “Yes. I think it’s going to work out fine. Ralph is a good guy, Betsy–an awfully good guy. Guys like that never get appreciated enough. I’m going to go on working with him, but he understands that I’m not built the way he is. You and I will have plenty of time to ourselves. No more working every week end.”

  “It sounds grand,” she said. “Tell me all about it when you get home. And hurry back. I miss you.”

  “I’ll hurry,” he said.

  To his disappointment, he found he couldn’t get a plane until evening. He was tired, and after sending a wire to Betsy to say he wouldn’t be home until the next morning, he spent most of the day sleeping in his hotel room. As a result, he had difficulty sleeping on the plane. It was not a direct flight, and every few hours they landed at some big airport. During the night Tom had four cups of coffee in four different states. The plane wasn’t due in La Guardia until six-thirty in the morning, and head winds made it an hour late. Tom shaved with an electric razor provided by the stewardess. It would be almost nine o’clock by the time he got to Grand Central Station, he figured, and he’d better stop at the office at least long enough to give Hopkins’ envelope to Ogden before doing what he wanted to do, which was to rush home.

  Ogden seemed surprised to see him, but accepted the envelope without comment. Tom stopped at his desk in Hopkins’ office to see if there were any calls for him. Miss MacDonald also seemed surprised to see him. “There’s a message on your desk,” she said. “I didn’t expect you back until the end of the week.”

  Tom went to his desk. There was a typewritten memorandum from Miss MacDonald with yesterday’s date. “A Mr. Gardella called,” she had written. “He said it was important and asked me to have you call him as soon as you returned.” Caesar’s telephone number followed. Tom dialed it.

  “Hello,” a woman with an Italian accent answered.

  “Is Mr. Gardella there?”

  “Just a minute,” the woman said, and Tom heard her calling, “Caesar! Caesar! Telephone for you!” She added something in Italian. There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the telephone. “Hello,” Caesar said in his deep voice.

  “This is Tom Rath. Did you call me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rath. I heard from Maria. I’d like to see you.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Things aren’t very good, Mr. Rath. Louis is dead. They went to Milan, just as I figured, and he got killed there, only a couple of weeks after he found a job. They had a strike in the plant where he was working. They’ve got a lot of Commies in Milan, and they make a lot of trouble–there was a riot, and Louis got killed. With that leg of his, he couldn’t fight and he couldn’t run.”

  There was a pause. “Did you hear me, Mr. Rath?” Caesar asked.

  “I heard. I’m very sorry that Louis died. Are Maria and the boy all right?”

  “They’re back in Rome with Gina’s folks. They need help bad, Mr. Rath. I’d like to see you and kind of talk it over. Gina and I do what we c
an to help, but you know how it is. We’ve got three kids of our own. We’d all sure appreciate it if you could do something.”

  There was a moment of silence before Tom said, “When can I see you?”

  “How about lunch today?”

  “I’ll meet you here in the lobby by the information booth, where we met last time,” Tom said. “Twelve-thirty for lunch. Will that be okay?”

  “Sure, Mr. Rath. I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks,” Tom said, and hung up. I’ll have to tell Betsy after all, he thought. I hope this housing project goes through. Then we’d have plenty of money, and it would be easier to tell her.

  I won’t tell her now, he thought. Not tonight. I might as well wait until the school vote goes through. It would be easier to tell her then, when we knew we were going to be all right ourselves.

  What will I do if the housing project fails? he thought. If it doesn’t work, we’ll just have my salary, and is it fair to ask Betsy to share that with some woman I met during the war? She’d never do that–no woman would!

  Tom glanced at the telephone. He wished he didn’t have to see Betsy until he could tell her about Maria–he didn’t want to have to keep secrets from her any more. The eagerness to go home had left him. He telephoned Betsy and told her he had to stay in town for a business lunch.

  “Oh!” she said, sounding disappointed. “Do you really have to?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “You sound funny. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you angry at me or something? You sound so funny.”

  “I’m not angry,” he said. “I just have to see a guy. This is a thing I simply have to do.”

  At twelve-thirty Tom got into one of the golden elevators and rode down to the lobby of the United Broadcasting building. Caesar Gardella, dressed in a dark-blue business suit, was waiting for him at the information booth. Caesar smiled embarrassedly when he saw him. “Do you want to go to that Mexican place again?” he asked.

  “I guess so,” Tom said.

  They walked across Rockefeller Plaza in silence. When they got to the restaurant, they sat down in the same booth they had occupied before.

  “Two double Black and Whites,” Tom said to the waiter. When the drinks arrived, he said to Caesar, “Is there anything more you can tell me about Maria?”

  “It’s just that she and the boy are living with Gina’s folks,” Caesar said. “I guess they’re well enough. I don’t know whether I should have done it or not, but there didn’t seem to be any point in calling you unless . . .”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told Gina’s mother that I had run into you here in New York, and I asked her to talk to Maria about it and see if Maria would take any help from you if you were willing to give it.”

  “What did Maria say?”

  “She sent me a letter to give you. I didn’t open it, but Gina’s mother says . . .”

  “You have a letter for me?”

  “Yes.” Caesar put his hand in his breast pocket and took out a rather soiled envelope with Tom’s full name written in black ink across the front in large, slanting letters. Tom tore it open. He took out a single-page letter folded around a snapshot wrapped in tissue paper. He looked at the snapshot first. It showed a plainly dressed woman, quite stout and almost middle-aged whom he dimly recognized as Maria, and standing beside her was a boy, a thin little boy all dressed up, with a cap on his head, and a shirt with a wide collar, and a little tight-fitting jacket, and short trousers. With his queer old-fashioned clothes, and his slender big-eyed face, and with his shockingly familiar forehead and nose and mouth, he looked like one of the faded photographs Tom’s grandmother had kept of “The Senator” as a child. Tom stared at the snapshot and then with trembling hands quickly stuffed it back into the envelope and unfolded the letter. Apparently Maria had dictated it to someone–the grammar and spelling were all correct.

  “Dear Tom,” the letter said, “I do not like this, but I don’t know what to do. For myself I do not need help, but there is the boy. Anything you could do for him would be from heaven. I am ashamed to ask you, but we were never proud with each other, so perhaps you will understand. The boy needs help. He is a good boy. He studies well. I am sending you this picture that Louis took last year. Do not think we are trying to make trouble for you. I leave this in the hands of God.”

  The letter was signed, “Maria Lapa.” Tom took a drink before folding it carefully and putting it back in the envelope with the photograph. He put the envelope in his inside coat pocket, glanced up, and saw that Caesar was discreetly staring at the wall. There was a heavy silence.

  “Caesar,” Tom said suddenly, “can I have some time to think this over?”

  “Sure, Mr. Rath,” Caesar replied. “Nobody’s trying to hurry you. We don’t want you to do anything you don’t think should be done.”

  “How much do you think I should send?”

  “Anything would help. Gina and I have been sending ten dollars a month to her mother. Ten dollars a month is a lot of money in Rome.”

  “How much would Maria need to raise that boy decently?”

  Caesar shrugged his shoulders. “Maria will probably go on living with Gina’s mother,” he said. “If you sent her a hundred dollars a month, she could do an awful lot with it. She could send the boy to a pretty good school, and everything.”

  “I’ve got to have time to work this out,” Tom said. “Look, Caesar, you’ve always been a decent guy. I’ve got to tell my wife–you can understand that. And it’s not going to be easy. I’ve got to have time.”

  “Sure, Mr. Rath,” Caesar said earnestly. “Maria’s all right for now–Gina’s mother can take care of her. You’ve got no need to hurry.”

  “It might take me a few weeks,” Tom said. “I’ve got to pick the right time to tell my wife.”

  “It’s none of my business, Mr. Rath, but aren’t you going to make a lot of trouble for yourself? By telling your wife, I mean.”

  “Could you send money somewhere every month without telling your wife?”

  “No, I guess I couldn’t. I sure hope this doesn’t make trouble for you, though. I know Maria wouldn’t want that.”

  “I’ve got a good wife,” Tom said. “I don’t think there’s going to be any trouble. I’ve just got to pick the right time.”

  “Mr. Rath, I’d like to say this,” Caesar replied awkwardly. “We’re grateful to you–Maria and Gina and I. We know you don’t have to do it, there’s nothing that could make you. I don’t know whether it will mean anything to you or not, but Gina and I are going to pray for you, and I know Maria will.”

  “Maria already has,” Tom said. “Now listen. You may not hear from me for quite a while. But I’ll get in touch with you, and I’ll make some kind of arrangement for Maria. I’ll probably do it through a bank or a lawyer. I’ll write her a note, but I want to make some kind of permanent arrangement.” He paused in confusion. “It would be kind of difficult for everybody if I had to write her every month,” he concluded.

  “What if your wife won’t let you do anything? I better not tell Maria until you’re sure.”

  “No, you better not. We better wait and see.”

  There was an interval of silence before the waiter came to take their orders.

  “You want anything to eat?” Tom asked Caesar.

  Caesar shook his head. “I got to be getting back,” he replied.

  “Me too,” Tom said. He paid the check for the drinks. They left the restaurant and hurried off in different directions.

  That afternoon Tom had a vicious headache. He threw himself into his work and missed his regular train home. While he waited for another train in Grand Central Station, he went to a drugstore and swallowed two aspirins. Finding that they didn’t help much, he went to the Hotel Commodore bar and drank too many Martinis. When he finally got home, Betsy looked at him with astonishment and concern. “Tommy,” she said, “what’s the matter wi
th you? You look terrible.”

  “I guess I just got a little stomach upset,” he said. “I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down.”

  Without saying more, he walked up to the big bedroom. Taking off only his shoes, he lay down on the wide four-poster bed. All the objects in the room seemed to swirl before his eyes. The paintings of his father and grandfather as children, the old mandolin in its cracked leather case on the top shelf of the corner bookcase, and an electric clock on the bureau blurred and wavered. He shut his eyes. In the quiet room he could hear his wrist watch ticking. A few moments later Betsy came in and looked at him worriedly. “Should I call a doctor?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I guess I just drank a little too much. I was tired, and when I missed my train, I stopped at the bar in the station.”

  “You shouldn’t,” she said. “It’s not adult, Tommy! And when you drink like this, I feel as though we were in different worlds. You haven’t even told me about your trip to California, and now the kids and I will have to eat supper without you. I wish you’d quit drinking, if only because it makes me feel so lonely.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He stretched out and stared up at the crocheted canopy overhead. Betsy left the room. A moment later she came back, and he felt something cool on his forehead. He put his hand up and found a damp towel she had placed there. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Would an ice bag help?”

  “This is fine.”

  “Did Hopkins say anything to you that worries you?”

  “No–everything is fine with Ralph. I’m not worried about my job at all. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

  “Please don’t drink any more,” she said.